


Wish I Could Be

by melanoradrood



Series: Wish I Could Be, We're Finally Free [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon Compliant, F/M, One Shot, Teen Angst, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood
Summary: After the ball, Hermione cannot help but run away to cry. Fraternizing with the enemy, Ron had called it. Well maybe, just maybe, she wishes someone else could see her, the real her. And maybe, just maybe, someone does.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Wish I Could Be, We're Finally Free [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089413
Comments: 68
Kudos: 329
Collections: The Dramione Collection





	Wish I Could Be

_ “Fraternizing with the Enemy” _

That’s what Ron had called it, and she had never felt more insulted in her life. The accusation, that a boy wouldn’t want to simply go to the ball with her unless it were for nefarious reasons, stung. The idea that Victor only wanted to use her for her relationship with Harry? It was unforgivable. After his previous accusations and insinuations that no one would ask her to the ball to begin with… She didn’t know why she had ever thought that Ronald Weasley was worthy of one ounce of her time, but this was it. She was done with it. Done with him. He had been an utter toad ever since the start of the tournament, but this was too far!

She had felt pretty! And wanted! Victor, alright, so they had a hard time talking, but he tried  _ so hard _ to say her name, said she was pretty while sitting in the library, told her he liked her smile, but Ron…

Why couldn’t her friends just be happy for her? She did so much for them, put up with so much, but this stupid tournament with these stupid boys, she couldn’t tolerate it anymore. They were all so insufferable, acting like fools, and when she took a few minutes for herself, Ron just had to drag her down. He just had to ruin her good mood - it was always Ron. Ron always destroyed everything, it felt like.

And now, she was sitting in an alcove near the library, crying by herself. 

Just once, she wanted someone to support her. She had stood by the boys in First Year, and yes they had saved her from the troll, but that was honestly dumb luck. And Second Year? They never would have brewed polyjuice without her. She was even the one to figure out the basilisk! And Third Year, neither even noticed how much she was wearing herself out, and it was because of her that they saved Sirius and Buckbeak. And now…

Why was everything always about Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley? How was it that she was simply a footnote to their story? It wasn’t that she even wanted the recognition, not after seeing the rubbish the Daily Prophet churned out, but it would be nice if someone noticed her, appreciated her for once.

Her hands ran over her face, trying to brush off the tears. She could feel the makeup, carefully applied with charms that were supposed to last, starting to smear. All of that time and effort… and she hadn’t even had her first kiss! Yes, Victor was older than her, but it felt like she was finally talking to someone who was her intellectual equal, even if they struggled with the language barrier. She had dreamed about this, ever since he had asked. They were going to dance, and he would take her for a walk, and place his cloak over her shoulders, and then she would have her first kiss, and it would be magical!

Instead, she was crying by herself. Pathetic.

A fresh wave of tears were poised to strike when she heard a noise, the swish of a cape and the tap of what she had to guess were Dragonhide boots. Turning where she sat, Hermione saw a familiar head of blonde hair - and that nearly sent her over the edge. Of all the things she could endure this evening, the worst would be to have Draco Malfoy throw cruel insults her way.

She tried her best to suck it in, but instead, more sobs erupted. She knew that she was an outsider. She wore a Muggle gown rather than dress robes and she never knew the customs or the dances. But of all the people she had to show up and make her feel worse, of course, it had to be him.

She turned away from the hallway, and tried to curl up on herself, tucking her knees to her chest and looking into the alcove. Sure, she had her back to him, but honestly, Malfoy hexing her might actually be an improvement on her evening - she could probably beat him in a duel, even if he did get in the first shot, and maybe the anger would finally stop her tears.

Instead of feeling a stinging hex, however, she felt something soft and light touch her bare shoulders and arms, and then a warmth surrounded her. It was not until the cloak was placed on her that she realized how cold she was, and now she was being wrapped in what could only be the softest fabric imaginable. The heavy weight of an arm then followed, wrapping around her shoulders, and without thought, she turned into the body it was attached to, burying her face in the dress robes of her bully.

She doesn’t know how long they sat there. She’s cradled in his arms as she cries, cries because she misses home, cries because she’s never truly belonged, cries because she wishes things were easier, cries because her friends are mad at her and she just wants someone to trust her, to hold her. And then she cries because the person comforting her is someone that will surely use it against her, but she’s in too deep to stop herself now.

Fraternizing with the enemy? She could only imagine how angry this would make Ron, to see her wrapped up in Malfoy’s cloak and crying. And, how pathetic is that? That she found peace, solace, and a comforting shoulder from someone that is sure to use it against her, rather than her best friends.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she finally sobbed out. “Why are you - you’re letting me cry on you? I don’t understand.”

She hiccuped as she finished getting the words out and finally looked up at him. His signature sneer, the wrinkle between his brow, the haughty curl of his nose - they’re all missing. Instead, she saw only concern. For a moment, she considered him to be a polyjuiced imposter, but there’s no way to replicate the expensive robes he wears. It surely must be him.

He didn’t say anything and his gaze shifted away to look down the hallway. She looked over, expecting to see someone… but the hall was empty and quiet, a sure sign that they were utterly alone. There was no one watching, no witnesses, and she wondered if this was meant to be a secret.

Well, he had a muggleborn wrapped up in his cloak and in his arms. Surely it must be a secret, but she was surprised he would even want to touch her to begin with. He had been utterly loathsome ever since they had first met, continuing until… well, now that she thought about it, as much as Draco Malfoy was an utter prat to Harry and Ron, he had not said anything to her since she had punched him Third Year.

She had assumed it was fear that kept him from insulting her, but perhaps she was, for the first time in a long time, wrong.

He remained quiet, but offered her a white monogrammed handkerchief, because of course he had embroidered handkerchiefs-  _ DLM _ . She stared at it for a moment, then reached out to accept it from him, quickly dabbing at both cheeks, trying to clear her tears. She offered it back, but her hand fell down as his fingers touched her chin.

She lifted her gaze and saw the concern in his eyes. He took a deep breath, and finally spoke.

“I heard what he said to you. You shouldn’t listen to him.”

It answered none of her questions - why was he being nice to her, why was he holding her, why was he even touching her, why was he offering her his handkerchief, why was he not taking it back, why-

“Why?”

Her head tilted to the side slightly as she asked her question, almost as though she was studying him, and he raised his eyebrow in response.

“Why should you not listen to him? I thought you were the smartest witch at Hogwarts, Granger. He’s a complete fool. If he had any sort of brains, he would know to not say such things to you. Honestly, I already thought him completely worthless, but he somehow dug himself a little deeper.”

She shook her head - she didn’t want to hear him insult Ron, of course, even though she knew that, in this moment, he sort of had a point, but that was not what she was asking. She was choosing  _ not _ to think about the way he said her name. Normally, it sounded like an insult, but now the word was like a soft caress.

“No, why are you being nice to me?”

He didn’t respond right away, and she thought she would never get an answer, until he finally glanced away, down at his hand that had fallen into his lap. He sniffed, the action seeming utterly unpoised and unlike him, and then he looked back up, his jaw set as his eyes connected with hers.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” he asked, and he swallows after finishing the last word. 

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, and she wondered if this was some sort of a trick, some sort of a prank. Were his friends just around the corner, even now? How far would he go for a prank? The fact that he was touching her, alone, should be a joke, but if he truly believed in blood purity, would he really  _ sully his hands _ to touch her?

She weighed it in her head, but he hadn’t asked anything from her, not yet at least, save for the chance to be honest. Whether or not this was a prank, she figured that she had nothing to lose.

“Alright then. The truth.”

Her lips pursed after she finished the last word, and his gaze seemed to flick to them for a moment - or perhaps not. No, she was certainly imagining it. She had to be. There was no way, in any universe, that Draco Malfoy would look at her lips. Her teeth, perhaps, to make fun of her, but not her lips.

“Sometimes, I wish that we were not what we are. I wish that we could be different people.”

It took Hermione a moment to process what she had just heard, her mind already whirling with thoughts, with smart responses, but she held them. Of course, her first thought was that he wished she were not a  _ Mudblood _ , but why would he have wished that? Her second thought was that he wished they were not Gryffindor and Slytherin, but that made no sense. He had said  _ we _ , after all, but still…

She didn’t say anything, not sure how to interpret his statement, and that seemed to pull a grin to his lips, but the smirk has no malice or hate. Instead, he looked amused by her.

“Stunned you to silence? Didn’t think it was possible.”

She blinked, parting her lips to speak, but he had already moved forward before she could respond.

“Weasley is a complete fool. I don’t mean that in a  _ I’m better than him _ sense. And I’m not saying this simply because he’s a Weasley. I’m saying this because he’s not even bothering to look at and see what’s in front of him.”

Her breath caught, and she wondered what he saw, what Malfoy saw in front of him, what he knew, that Ronald did not.

“And what doesn’t he see?” she asked, licking her lips, and there it is again, his gaze flicked down for a moment, his own lips parting, before he glanced back up to answer.

“Gryffindors are so loud. There are no secrets that any of your lot can keep from the rest of the school, always going on and on about whatever happens in your common room or at your table. Saying that you’re a girl, that you can just be his date, as though you are a last choice? You should have been his first choice. If we were different people-”

He cut himself off, and she wanted to ask, wanted him to spell it out. If they were different people, what? Would he have asked her? Would she have been his first choice? Was that even possible? Was it possible that Draco Malfoy would want to ask her?

“But we’re not,” she said softly.

He shook his head and looked down at his hand, sitting on his knee. Her eyes drifted to it as well, and she saw his fingers flex, hand opened slightly, and then closed. His hands looked soft, which seemed absurd given how much he’s on a broom, and almost elegant. She never would have thought a boy’s hands would be soft. Her own were often stained with ink, but not tonight. Tonight she had scrubbed at her fingers until they were clean, and rubbed so much lotion that her calluses were at least smooth. 

“No,” he finally said, and she looked up at him, her breath catching as he spoke, his words as soft as hers had been. “You’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. And no one is worthy of your tears. Don’t cry because of him. He doesn’t know what he could have. Doubt he ever will.”

“And you do?” she asked quickly, the words escaping her before she could even stop herself. 

He chuckled and shook his head, lifting his chin and looking her directly in the eyes. “No, Granger. There’s no way I could ever have you.”

Her chin lifted, and she felt herself choke on her words for a moment, but she pushed them out. “Because I’m a Mudblood?”

Her voice cracked on the slur, and his brow furrowed, and then he looked ashamed. His face was almost painful to watch, his wide eyes watering from a broken heart. He somehow looked as she felt when the word was used, and she wondered what he was thinking.

“No. Because I’m not worthy of a witch like you.”

His hand lifted to touch her again, and Hermione held her breath as his fingers hovered over her cheek, but they did not connect, the slightest brush almost too much. Her gaze lingered on his hand, and then dropped again, and he pulled his arm from where it was wrapped around her, releasing her.

He released her as he moved, turning her as he did so, until he no longer sat in the alcove but instead stood beside it, and she was left sitting on the edge, legs tucked underneath her and his cloak still around her shoulders. He took a few steps back, straightening his robes, and then he moved back towards her, his hand outstretched.

“Dance with me,” he said, reaching his hand a few inches further, so all she had to do was offer her hand to him. She couldn’t move, though, still processing his words. “Just this once.”

She took a deep breath and shifted to let her legs out from under her, dangling down from the ledge, and she lifted her chin, staring at him. There was no hatred, no sneer, just a hint of pain and some longing. This still felt like a joke of some sort, perhaps, but she couldn’t stop herself from finally taking his hand, letting him pull her from her seat to stand in front of him.

He led her a few paces away until they were in the middle of the corridor, then turned to her, releasing her hand. He bowed low, and she tried to awkwardly dip, not certain how else to respond. His hand moved to her lower back, and she could feel the warmth of it, even through the layers of his cloak and her dress. Her eyes shifted from the floor up to meet his, and she could see a smile in his eyes, the slightest crinkle in the corners.

In response, her hand moved to his shoulder, just barely resting there. This was different from how they had been dancing at the Yule Ball, but she remembered seeing dancing, seeing a proper waltz before, and he  _ was  _ a proper Pureblood. She imagined that he knew how to actually dance, one of those rigid skills he was likely taught by his tutors that so many Purebloods employed over the summer months, or so she had overheard.

Every instinct told her to lead, but with the flick of his wrist, music came from seemingly nowhere, a soft melodic three count tempo filling the air. Her eyes were on his, not looking away, and then he swayed slightly, on the downbeat. She moved with him, swaying in place, and she listened to the music, heard it, then caught it in time to realize that the first step was coming.

He stepped forward, and she back, and within seconds, they were moving together, one two three, one two three, one two three, and then they were twirling, moving around the space. His eyes never left hers, and she moved with him, as though trained all her life. She could feel the way his fingers pressed against her spine as he went to twirl them each time, and she simply followed.

It was the first time in her life she has truly allowed herself to be led, without question. Even with Victor during their earlier dance, she had been nervous during the lift, during each spin, scared he might drop her, even with the use of magic and his muscles. Now, though, she trusted Draco with each step, and when had she thought of him as Draco rather than Malfoy? It was almost startling - except, his eyes had still not left hers, and she could think of nothing else.

She had never studied his eyes before, never even thought about them. All she had ever seen was the paleness of him, but she realized in the torchlight that he was not pale, but fair. His hair was platinum blonde, and while previously she had thought it to be a product of bleach and magic, she could see now the finer silver strands, the silver that ran through it, some strands almost pearlescent, but the underlying color being white. It even looked soft, and she wondered if she could touch it.

His eyes, though, his eyes were a bright and shining silver. A brilliant shining silver. They seemed to almost glow as they danced, as they moved, a stark contrast to the darkness of his black dress robes. 

The music grew louder, the end of a movement, she realized, and his free hand came from behind his back, lifting out to his shoulder where her hand is. She realized after a moment what it was, just out of the side of her vision, and she released his shoulder, sliding her hand into his. Their fingers wrapped around the back of the other’s hand, and she realized how warm it is, not at all cold as she would have assumed.

He was warm, and held her close. Her free hand, which had been previously holding her skirt, rose to settle on his upper arm of the one holding her lower back. They were close, almost intimate, as the music softened in the next movement, sounding like a soft piece just for them as they moved together.

His eyes hadn’t left hers, and they continued in step, one two three, one two three, and Hermione forgot that she didn’t truly know the moves, forgot that she currently despised Ronald Weasley, forgot that she had been hoping to have her first kiss tonight with Victor Krum, forgot that Harry Potter has still not figured out the next clue, forgot-

She nearly forgot how to breathe, save for the fact that her lungs demanded it. Her mind cleared as they moved as one, as though this were a dance they had always been building to. She thought of his earlier words -  _ I wish we were different people _ . She had assumed, in the moment, that he meant her. That he meant that he wished she were not a Muggleborn. Suddenly, she wondered if he wished that he were not a Pureblood.

Her breath caught at the thought, a soft gasp, and Draco’s eyes finally pulled from being locked with her own, down to her lips. His steps faltered, and then they were no longer moving, his gaze caught on her parted lips, her own gaze shifting from his eyes to his mouth.

She was thinking about a kiss, her first kiss, and wonders if he was thinking the same.

“Why do you wish you were someone else?” she asked softly, making a guess as her gaze shifted up to him.

His face looked soft, no longer hard lines, and she thought he was beautiful, the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. She has heard other girls calling him fit, and he was, but right now, he looked like an angel, something ethereal. He looked like a Prince. Her Prince.

“The sins of the father… belong to the son,” he whispered. “My father always says that a son reflects his father’s success, and that a son’s success reflects on the father… and nothing I ever do will change who he is, what he has done.”

She knew that Lucius Malfoy had placed the Diary of Tom Riddle in Ginny’s basket, back during Second Year, and she knew that he had claimed to be  _ Imperiused _ during the Wizarding War. She had thought, in the back of her mind, that that had been a lie, and given the way that Draco had previously behaved, thought that the Malfoys believed in Blood Purity.

She considered now that Draco might no longer hold the same beliefs.

“You’re not your father,” she said softly, and her hand raised from his upper arm to touch his cheek. He looked frozen, almost paralyzed, even his face stilled, and she almost pulled her hand away when his cheek turned, pressing into her hand. She let her fingers relax, curling up his jaw.

The music faded as one song ended, and another began, but they were still not moving.

His eyes returned to her lips, and she wondered if he was thinking about kissing her. She didn’t know what to do and instead just stood there looking at him, hoping, silently, that he might. No one would believe her, and she thought this might be a dream, but it would be a lovely dream, filled with a Prince that came to her rescue, that held her close, that danced with her, and that gave her her first kiss. 

“I’m also not worthy of what you are asking for,” he said finally, releasing his hold on her back and her hand. He took a step back from her and his gaze shifted to the floor. “I must apologize - I didn't mean to hear your thoughts, but you’re projecting them, rather loudly, and it’s… It’s frowned upon, to listen.”

Occlumency and Legilimency… she had heard of them, had even heard rumors that Blacks were often skilled in one or the other, and knew that Draco’s mother was a Black. She tried to clear her mind, to think of anything else, to draw her thoughts back - and then her cheeks colored as she realized what he meant. She had been thinking about a kiss, her first kiss, and had been projecting onto him her desire that he give her that.

The embarrassment disappeared quickly, though, as she further processed what he first said -  _ not worthy of it _ ? Indignation fueled her, and she rose up, chin lifting as she squared her shoulders.

“I think I’m perfectly within my rights to make that decision for myself,” she snapped, and she worried for a moment that she sounded childish when she was trying to sound confident. “I’m a modern witch. If a boy wants to kiss me, and I want him to as well, then it’s my decision about whether or not he’s worthy.”

His brow rose in response, shoulders lifting slightly at her determination, but that was the only response he could give before she cut the distance between them, pushing up onto her tiptoes and tugging him by the front of his dress robes. She didn’t even think to ask permission, just pressed her lips to his in a hard kiss.

It lasted for a half a second, and then she pulled away in shock, horrified at herself - she didn’t ask, and he had just told her no, so really, she had ignored the word  _ No _ , even if he had been saying no for absurd reasons, and really, what was wrong with her that she would just kiss a boy, particularly this boy, who had previously always acted as though her mere presence was an insult, and yes he had been indoctrinated with hate, but really what was she doing-

Her whirling thoughts were cut off by the feeling of warm lips back on hers, and she couldn’t help but to moan immediately, a whimper escaping the back of her throat as all of her fears, concerns and worries melted away. His hand touched her cheek, her hair, and within seconds, his fingers were digging into the low chignon at the nape of her neck, the hair tamed from bottles of Sleekeazy. Within a few tugs of his fingers, her hair was falling out of the pins, and she gasped as his fingers started to run through it.

They were still kissing, just a press of their lips together, and then he pulled back, both of them gasping for air. They didn’t part, however, their bodies moving closer as their lips pulled away, his forehead pressing to hers. His eyes were closed, she realized as she opened hers to look, and she closed her eyes in response, just breathing in, savoring the moment.

His other hand joined his first, running into her hair and loosening it. She heard a few charms leave his lips, words that released her hair from the hold it was in, and she wonders where Draco Malfoy had heard so many beauty charms. 

“My mother always uses these after a night out,” he said softly, answering her question, and she didn’t know if she was projecting her thoughts again or not, but she didn’t care. “You were beautiful tonight, but I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.”

It had been a lot of product, and arguably she could try using less to simply relax the curls into waves, perhaps, but all thoughts about her hair disappear as he pressed his lips to hers again. Hers parted ever so slightly, catching his bottom lip between hers, and his do the same. She thought this might be what it meant to deepen a kiss, except they were not using tongue. Maybe… maybe not yet, but she didn’t want to pull away from him, just wanted to stay like this. She could stay like this forever.

When their lips separated a second time, his forehead pressed back to hers, and then he pulled away. Her eyes opened just in time to see him do the same, and she realized, as his hands left her hair, that this is the end of the night. 

She feared he was withdrawing from her, and she wondered if she would ever see this side of him again.

“You’re going to do great things, Hermione Granger,” he said, a sad smile on his lips as he moved back enough that they were no longer touching. She suddenly felt cold seeping in around her, despite the warmth of his cloak still enveloping her. “Be a great witch.”

She smiled tightly, trying to accept the compliment, but tears prickled in her eyes as she looked at him, only a few steps away, but seemingly miles apart from her.

“Why does this feel like goodbye?” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to keep out the fear that suddenly seemed to come from nowhere.

He looked back at her sadly, and shook his head.

“Because I’m still a Malfoy, and you’re-”

“A Mudblood?” she gasped out, and she realized, with horror, that she was on the verge of crying again.

He cut the distance between them in a step, his fingers lifting to her cheeks, clearing the tears before they could even start to fall. “Because you’re good. You’re light. You’re not trapped. You can run away from this, run away from the Wizarding World, and everything that’s coming.”

Her lips quivered at that, and she thinks that this might actually be the real Draco Malfoy. She realized that the show he wore in his day to day was a mask, that perhaps he was protecting himself by wearing it. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the pressure he was under, coming from his parents, from his station, from his house…

“You can escape too,” she whispered, and she doesn’t even know if that’s true, but the war wasn’t yet upon them, and while she knew she couldn’t stop it, she could at least save him.

His head shook, and then he bent down, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her breath stopped, her tears stopped, and all she could do was feel the warmth that spread from his touch, the safety she felt in it. It was somehow so much more intimate than their previous kisses, and she melted into him, her eyes closing as he kissed her skin.

“I can’t escape who I am,” he said softly, and she could feel his lips pressing along her hairline again as he spoke.

She opened her eyes and her mouth, ready to tell him to stop, to deny whatever he thinks to be true, but his finger touched her lips, silencing her.

“No. I know you have that Gryffindor optimism, but there’s no escape for me. I’m not foolish enough to think I have any path beyond serving the Dark Lord. My father has already tied us to him. If I left… the price of it is something I would not pay.”

She wondered what he meant, thinking he might be protecting someone, but he was just a boy, they were just children - the war was not even here yet. How could he think, already know, what the future held for him.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, and his lips pressed to her forehead, then her lips, and then both eyelids. “Just keep your eyes closed. Don’t watch me walk away. Practice trying to keep your thoughts to yourself, and keep yourself safe. Remember, none of them are worthy of your tears - I’m not worthy of them.”

“Draco,” she gasped, and he hummed against her forehead, kissing her skin one last time.

“Always wondered what it would sound like, to hear you say my name. Thank you for that.”

She didn’t say anything, knows there’s nothing left to say. She wondered if anyone would believe her, if she ran right now to Professor Dumbledore, or to Professor McGonagall, or even Mrs. Weasley. Would any of them believe her if she told them that Draco Malfoy needed to be saved?

“Good night, Hermione,” he said softly, and released her. She could hear his steps, could feel the cold seeping in, and then it was utterly silent. 

Her eyes opened and she turned to look towards where he had surely disappeared, down the corridor. She saw no sign of him in any direction, and the tears welled up in her eyes once more, ready to fall. She sucked them down, trying to remember what he had said about not crying over the things a boy said or did… but this was crying because this was a boy she could have saved. 

Her fingers raised to her lips, touching them, and she could feel where his lips had touched hers. Her gaze shifted back to the alcove where they had sat, and she saw his handkerchief still sitting on the ledge. She picked it up, her fingers running over the monogram, and when she sat back down, his cloak was still wrapped around her, left behind. They were both a reminder of what had happened, that it was not a dream.

And as she climbed into bed that night, sleekeazy washed from her hair, his cloak folded down in the bottom of her trunk, and his handkerchief under her pillow, she imagined a world where he was not a Malfoy, and she could kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it? Love it? It's not the oneshot I originally planned to put out, but hey, it's a thing!
> 
> You can find me over [here](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/). Come hang out and watch me slowly unravel while I attempt to figure out what tenses are, how to do basic things on photoshop, and generally lose my mind over nothing.
> 
> Also fic recs. I'll always be sharing what I'm currently reading.
> 
> ( and shout out to canttouchthis, who once again swooped in and saved basically everything )


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